The Lack of Risk
by ficlit78
Summary: Tag to Redline. Ficlit is going ape and needs to fix the horrible, baffling fight between Grace and Rigsby to make herself feel better. This is the result. M for language.


**A/N: ** Okay. Seriously? The Mentalist writers are ensuring that Grigsby fanfic writers are on permanent damage control. Rigsby's attitude in Redline threw me for a loop and I'm starting to wonder if rabid bears have been brought in as guest writers. At least Jisbon people are getting cute stuff. Either way, this is post Redline. Grace and Rigsby continue their fight. Ownership? Dude, if I owned this farce, the characters would go back to normal and there'd be some shallow graves behind the studio. Just sayin'.

**The Lack of Risk**

She held her arms across the threshold of her door, her eyes blazing.

"No."

He stepped closer and automatically leaned forward and down, as he always did when trying to get close to her. "Please, Grace. I just want to talk."

Standing just her running shorts and tank top, she gripped her doorframe harder, refusing to tip her chin up to his face and keeping her eyes level with his chest. She wasn't going to look up. She didn't want to see him. "I said no. I want you to leave. Now."

He sighed in frustration, but he didn't back off.

He'd obviously gone home first. His dark grey tee and jeans filled her vision as she held her ground. He wasn't coming in, that was for sure. But then, it was pretty clear that he wasn't going to budge either. Grace raged at his stubbornness as she felt her jaw clench and her tears threaten to spill over again as they had been ever since she got home. The knock on the door had surprised her. Thinking it might be her neighbor checking in on her (the walls were thin and she wasn't a quiet crier), she opened the door without peeking and was greeted by the man himself. The man she thought she knew, but was quickly proving to be a stranger.

Her face was damp and her eyes were red and wet. If she had looked up into his face, she would have seen his heart crack on his sleeve at her miserable appearance.

She sniffed. "Please," she begged softly. "I can't do this. I'm too upset to fight. And I don't want to hear anymore of your…" she cut herself off and brought one hand from the door to wipe her eyes. "Just leave."

"No," he croaked hoarsely. "I'm not going anywhere until we talk about this."

Her eyes sparked again as she finally looked up at him. His sad, yet resolute expression made her boil over with rage. How dare he look unhappy! How dare he come to her and demand she listen to him after he'd said so many hurtful things!

"Fine! Stay out here then." She whirled and slammed the door. It came within an inch of clicking into place before it was violently thrown back open. She gasped with fury and shock when he barged in and slammed the door behind him.

"You slam a door in my face again and I'll rip it off its hinges, babe. Call the cops if you want, but I'm saying my piece until they come and arrest me." His blue eyes flashed at her and his breathing was labored. He was in a real state. Once again, her indignation roared in her ears.

"There's nothing left to say, Wayne, except that I'm an idiot. I traveled two thousand miles for a job that I'd have killed for in a city that I love and I threw it away with both hands."

"You didn't throw it away," he rumbled angrily. "Lisbon is letting us stay."

She snorted in disgust. "No thanks to you. You told me that you loved me from the minute you met me, that you needed me and screw the CBI _and _the rules. For the last year I've fought my feelings for you because I thought that Lisbon would transfer me. I never for one second thought that you'd help kick me out the door to save yourself."

He lividly spun on his heel and huffed in frustration, scrubbing a hand through his hair before bringing his fist down against the door. "That's not fair, goddammit," he said, still facing away from her.

"Damn right, it's not," she hissed. She felt her lower lip tremble as her lover's back rippled angrily. She felt so abandoned that she wanted to just sink to the floor and start crying all over again. "I thought you were willing to risk everything for us. But it's only after we tell Lisbon do I find out that the only thing you're willing to risk is _my_ career. And for what? I mention marriage and the first thing you call it is 'stupid'. Wayne, I—," she cut off again and sighed shakily.

He was still facing the door, his fists straining into the wood like he wanted to punch right through it. Part of her wanted him to, just to show he felt _something_. Her eyes wandered up the back of his t-shirt to the nape of his neck. She tried not to think about how much she loved working her fingers through his short hair and along the skin of his neck. He always pushed back into her touch and murmured happily, loving how her nails scraped gently and gave him goosebumps. The sudden certainty that she'd never touch him again in that way made fresh tears spring up and her heart to turn cold and solid in her chest…right before it splintered into a million pieces.

His silence sealed her answer.

"You started this," she continued softly. "Now I'm ending it. I was a fool to let my guard down and now I'm exactly where I swore I'd never end up—miserable and professionally compromised. You said I was running hot and cold on you, but it's me that feels lost. I don't even know what I mean to you anymore. Maybe I never really did. So let's just call it even. Okay? Given how much you value your job, I'm sure you'll agree that it's best. For both of us."

His head shot up and he froze. "Don't."

She eyed him tiredly. "Baby, it's already done."

He whirled and took three enormous steps before lunging at her and wrapping her up in his arms. They crossed around her back, his fingers gripping her bare shoulders. "No. You are _not_ ending this!"

She gasped at his sudden movement and force of his arms around her slender body. She pushed against his hold and looked up into his face with a calm defeat that terrified him. "I didn't end this, Wayne. _We _ended this."

"I'm _in love_ with you," he rasped desperately. "I _do_ need you."

"I'm sorry."

"No, Grace. You've said your bit. Now you're going to listen to me."

She lowered her head. God, she was suddenly so tired. Knowing there was no other way but to listen to him, she nodded against her chest. "Just let me go."

He grunted his disapproval and tightened his hold, but she looked up and shook her head. "Let go, Wayne. Sit down and say what you need to say."

He stared her down for a second, as if measuring her give on the subject, but she held his gaze calmly, wordlessly reinforcing that she meant business. He huffed in annoyance, but let his arms drop. She nodded and gestured to her sofa.

She waited for him to sit before climbing into the chair opposite him. His eyes narrowed. She _never_ sat away from him. Her sofa was their island, already home to hundreds of memories of cuddles and kisses and lovemaking. He'd never sat alone on it with her in the room. The crack in his heart widened considerably.

He leaned forward, getting as close as her embargo would allow. "I'm an asshole."

She barely blinked. "You're forgiven."

He huffed again with anger and shook his head. "No. Let me finish."

She blinked again and nodded, her defeatism still painfully present. He tried again. "I've been an idiot. I won't deny it and I won't defend it. We were both in trouble and I let you believe that your job was less important than mine. Worse than that, I let you think that _you_ were less important to me than my job."

"It's okay, Wayne, I—,"

He shot across the infuriating space she'd put between them and put his index finger against her lips. It took a thousand mental wild horses to reign his hands and arms away from her aching beauty and vulnerability. Until today, they'd had every right to scoop her up and hold her close. Their skill and desire remained, but their rights had been revoked. His eyes sparked with hurt and fury as he spoke low. "I can't hold you. I can't touch you. But I'll say what I need to say without your wholesale absolution. I don't want it. Not unless it means you still love me and want to be with me. Otherwise, hush," he tapped his finger against her, "and let me finish."

Her lips betrayed her and kissed his finger lightly. "I never said I didn't love you anymore."

His heart thumped hard in his chest at her kiss. "What you're saying is a million times worse, Grace. You're saying that your sadness and sense of betrayal is stronger than your love for me." He removed his finger. "Let me finish," he repeated.

He begrudgingly went back to the sofa alone and sat back. As he tried to organize his thoughts to defend what in his mind was the trial of the century, he closed his eyes and blocked the sight of her slim legs, her feminine hands, her perfect cleavage…and acres of exposed, silky skin as she sat across from him. Even in his state, he marveled at the beauty of his girl.

His beautiful, heartbroken girl.

And it was his fault. He'd lost her trust and she was covered in tears and it was all his fuckin' fault. For all his anger, she'd been right about that. He shouldn't have pursued her if he wasn't willing to risk himself. He shouldn't have gotten jealous or nosy with her other boyfriends, if all he was going to do was throw her to the wolves at the first sign of trouble with their romance. And right now? He shouldn't allow her to toss them away without fighting for her. She deserved that much. Christ, she deserved so much more.

He opened his eyes. "Every word I said today, I take back. Most of it I didn't mean. The rest came out wrong and sounded horrible."

She folded up her legs in front of her, wrapping her arms around them. She peeked at him owlishly from behind her knees. "What didn't you mean?"

A ghost of a smile skittered over his lips. "When I bitchily told you to do whatever you want and walked out. Jesus, I didn't mean that. I was so childish that I feel like shit just remembering it. I promise I'll never end an argument like that again."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. "And _don't_ say there won't be more arguments, Grace, because there will. You and I had a fight. Pure and simple. You don't break up because of a fight. That goes double with us. Today was the crappiest day of my life in a relationship, and it's still better than the happiest day I ever had with anyone else."

She felt her breath freeze in her lungs at that. Steeling herself against her agreement with his statement, she spoke with force. "Another reason I can't do this, Wayne. No one can make me cry as hard as you can. I feel like I'm broken inside."

That double-edged sword bit deep and he gasped softly with pain and gratification. "Please, baby," he begged quietly, holding his arms out, "let me hold you."

She pulled her knees tighter against her and buried her face behind them, shaking her head. "No."

He stifled a groan, a wall of loneliness and self-pity collapsing on top of him. His arms fell limply into his lap.

She wiped her eyes against her thighs and looked up again. "So then, what came out wrong?"

He looked up, in his misery almost forgetting what they'd been talking about. It was hard to think clearly when half of your soul was sitting in a different chair and threatening to leave you forever. He swallowed, thinking back to their hideous fight in the office.

"Saying that us getting married was stupid."

Her wide, wet eyes blinked guardedly. She said nothing.

He sighed sadly. "Baby, I've loved you for so long, there's never been a moment when I didn't. But I know that it took longer for you. A lot longer, I think. That's just it. I…I've been a crazy, lovesick mess, but you've only just begun to show your feelings for me." He paused as he tried to explain as clearly as his lovelorn mind would let him. "I'm afraid of my expectations, sweetheart, because I'm afraid you won't share them. You honestly don't think I haven't imagined us in a little house with twenty kids running around? But those are my crazy, lovesick thoughts again. So when you mentioned marriage to me today, my stupid brain chose sarcasm rather than hope." He looked at her, his expression broken. "I called it stupid and said it was too soon because I'm convinced I need to give you that out. You're my whole world, but I'm not going to smother you with my needy bullshit until I know for sure what you want. I'm desperate to know how far you want to take this. And I want to hear it when we're not tearing each other to pieces or crying our eyes out."

He fell back into the plush upholstery, closing his eyes against the pain gouging at his chest. Oxygen was being an evasive bitch. His lungs felt starved as he inhaled and sighed heavily. As he tried to unclench the band of pressure around his ribs, he listened to her muted breathing, wondering miserably if he'd ever be alone with her like this again.

Suddenly, he felt a warm, soft weight crawl into his lap. The band on his chest snapped and he gave a broken, relieved sob as his arms clamped tightly around her. His eyes still closed, he lowered his head and buried his face into the flowery scent of her hair and took a harsh, desperate hit of it. He held it in his lungs forever before the need to breathe forced him to expel it. Opening his eyes, he looked down at her cradled sideways against him and lowered his face to hers, inhaling deeply again and pulling her scent deep into his body. "_Now_ I need you to forgive me," he asked finally.

Her hands, crossed compactly over her chest, reached and cupped the nape of his neck, running her fingertips through his hair and along his hairline. He growled softly and murmured his approval, just like he always did.

"You're forgiven," she felt ridiculous saying it. He had to know that she'd always forgive him. There wasn't a man alive except him who could make her cry until her heart broke, but no other man would ever make her so happy that her heart exploded with joy either.

He clutched her harder and shuddered, his relief violently leaving his muscles. One hand held her tightly by the shoulders, the other couldn't hold still as it roved restlessly up and down her body. Her skin sang under his touch. Hell, all of her did. After convincing herself that she'd never feel the roughness of his hands or the soft heat of his kiss again, his gentle assault felt like an exhilarating homecoming.

"Hold me," he rasped. She complied and wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling her head firmly against his chest and shoulder.

"I hate fighting with you," she said finally. Looking up into his shyly happy eyes, she smiled hesitantly. "I don't ever want to do it again. Promise me."

He chuckled and dropped his forehead against hers. "I hate fighting with you, too. I can't promise it won't happen again." She threw him a pouty glance and he smiled lopsidedly. "But I can promise that you're always going to win."


End file.
